


it's been a long, long time

by rywaen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, M/M, Most will be either directly or hinting to stucky, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, but for the most part, it's pretty much it's own universe thing, mostly ignores canon, some references to CA:CW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:23:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6918127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rywaen/pseuds/rywaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missions gone wrong, petty revenge, and diving into deep wells of emotion; they're only human, after all.</p><p>A collection of drabbles that I've posted on my tumblr account for the lovely people that have requested them. They're collected here into an anthology for easier reading. Feel free to request your own if you'd like!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. strategically shaved

jezi-belle asked: Steve and Tony, #35. Difficulty level: not shippy OR sad  
35\. “You look like a monkey who’s been strategically shaved.”

* * *

 

For all intents and purposes, Steve hadn’t had the best day. Quite frankly, this whole week had been one for the books in terms of record setting bad days, so now he wanted to have some time to relax.

There were too many things to list what all had gone wrong - robberies, false leads leading to almost comical traps, aggressively fussy aliens, and a fire or two to name a couple - and it’d left Steve throwing his hands up in defeat. He may have been stubborn as a mule, but he knew when to back down.

Now, he’d settled in at the Avengers compound, comfortable on his favorite of the couches, a book in hand that he’d been meaning to pick up for the last few months but never seemed to have the time for. This week was going to go out with a nice, quiet moment even if it killed him.

That frame of mind should have really been his first clue.

“Whoa, whoa, who’s turn was it to take out the trash this week? Because they are on probation until further notice.” Tony had just sauntered in, voice booming like always, immediately shattering Steve’s moment of peace.

“You smell that, Cap?” His chin tilted up and he even made a show of going up onto his toes, sniffing the air all around the room. “It reeks in here. Someone must’a lit another fire while I was gone. Smells like burning hair.”

If he didn’t acknowledge his existence, perhaps Tony Stark would completely cease to exist. One could hope.

“No, no, really. Rogers. C’mon, work with me here.” Even as Tony sat down hard next to him on the couch, Steve refused to look up from the line in his book. The one he’d read at least five times now. “You look like a monkey who’s been strategically shaved.”

As if his vocal jabs weren’t enough, Tony reached up and waved his hand over where Steve’s hair had been. Yes, most of it had been singed, so yes, he had to buzz it again. Not something he had wanted to do, not a look that was particularly flattering on him, but he could live with it. So long as he didn’t have to hear this until it finally grew out again.

“Did you piss off Romanoff again? Or Barton? I know he’s got a thing about petty revenge, right?” Tony tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Or did Barnes black out and go all Soldier on ya? Didja get scolded for not having regulation length?”

The book in Steve’s hands slammed shut, the sudden noise making Tony’s shoulders jerk in the slightest show of how he’d jumped from being startled. Without even looking at him, Steve pushed himself up off of the couch and tucked the book under his arm, hands shoving deep into his pockets to fish his phone out.

Tony sat statuesque as Steve unlocked his phone and tapped a few rythmic times before turning the screen and holding it about a foot away from Tony’s face.

“You might wanna work on getting some better fire hazard equipment around here. It’d be a shame if this happened again sometime soon.”

Steve walked away, a grin tugging mercilessly at his lips as Tony made a choking noise in his throat. The picture, which was now Steve’s lock screen background, was a selfie of Steve and Bucky together, surrounded by the flaming wreckage that was left of quite a number of Tony’s cars that he’d foolishly kept at the compound. In the background were Clint and Kate, the perpetrators of the crime, looking just as singed and, miraculously, more proud of themselves than the supersoldiers even though this clearly meant that Kate needed more practice before she got her driver’s license.


	2. are you drunk?

  
**Anonymous** asked: If you're willing, #1 with either Tony and Bruce or Steve and Bruce. :)

 

> 1\. “Are you drunk?”
> 
> * * *

 

“Shit.”

Despite the fact that he’d been able to notice the bookshelf teetering before it’d actually crashed to the floor, Steve made no move to stop it. Not until after the fact, at least.

Okay, so, drinking with Thor? Not as good of an idea as it seemed like two hours ago.

The resounding noise from the crash had been cacophony in his already ringing ears, the Asgardian liquor making his head feel like he was both drunk and hungover at once. The Avengers compound was mostly abandoned for the time being, multiple members off on various solo missions, but whomever _was_  there had most likely been sleeping.

The operative word being _had_. 

Steve swayed on his feet for a moment, wishing he’d gained time powers in that coffin-like box they’d stuffed him in all those years ago in Stark’s lab. If he had, maybe he’d be able to go back and stop the bookshelf from falling and making a mess, books and shattered picture frames and other knick-knacks everywhere.

Or, he could have gone back and decided not to drink at all. Yeah, probably a better idea.

He’d managed to get down onto his knees to start scooping up the fallen items, sweeping the glass to the side so that no one would end up with a shard stuck into their foot when they went bleary-eyed to the kitchen to get coffee in the morning.

The light flicking on from the hallway made him squint and hiss, dropping what he’d scooped up in favor of covering his eyes with his palms pressed flat to his face. The image was not unlike a child trying to hide, intent that if ‘I don’t see you, you can’t see me’.

“Steve?” It was Bruce’s inquisitive voice that came from the hallway. “Are you drunk?”

“No, I’m Steve.”

“Uhm. Right.”

This, apparently, was funny to the inebriated super soldier. The resounding giggling was light and free, something that Bruce wasn’t sure that he, or any of the Avengers, had ever heard from the man before. Steve laughed, sure, but giggled? Never.

“Hey, uh, how about you leave that for now, huh? We should probably get you to bed, Cap.”

“Don’t wanna– gotta clean up this mess, Doc. Can’t be leavin’ glass an’ shit errywhere. Someone’ll step on it an’- an’ then I’ll be _respectable.”_

_“Er_ , responsible?”

“Right, that’ne.” 

Bruce made his way through the wreckage carefully, tiptoeing towards Steve’s kneeling frame and he set a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder. He gave him a hesitant pat once - twice - and swallowed, not entirely sure what to do in this situation.

“Ah, well, it’s just you and I on the grounds tonight, Cap. No one’ll step on this mess before tomorrow morning. I’ll get up early with you and make sure it gets all tidied up. How’s that sound?”

Steve gave a huge sigh, clearly not entirely happy with the situation, but he nodded with a silent pout and pushed himself up to a standing position. He swayed a bit, not quite balanced, and Bruce gripped his bicep to offer even just a slight amount of stability.

“I don’t know if you’ll remember this in the morning, buddy, but I think you’re gonna agree with me when I say that it’s probably a good idea to just say no when Thor asks you to go out drinking with him from now on.”

“Jus’ wanted to _feel,_ y’know, Bruce?” Steve mumbled, draping his arm over his friend’s shoulders as he allowed himself to be shuffled off to his room. “Wanted to turn down the vol’me fer a bit.”

“I know what you mean, Cap,” Bruce said. “Let’s get you to bed.”


	3. nightmares

  
**Anonymous** asked: ohhhh Steve and Bucky for no.25

 

> 25\. “My nightmares are usually about losing you.”
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

Without a sound, Bucky jerked awake, covered in sweat and aching all over. At first when Bucky warned him about his nightmares, Steve expected screaming or crying, possibly even lashing out from Bucky in the middle of the night. 

He hadn’t expected the silent reservation and tense lines of Bucky’s shaking shoulders in the faint moonlight. As terrifying as the memories that plagued his mind were want to be, Bucky never made a sound.

They didn’t always sleep in the same bed; they each had their own rooms, separate and able to shut and lock away the world for a while if either of them felt the need. Steve knew that Bucky believed that it was for his sake, for his peace of mind that Steve had graciously allowed this addition. And, while Steve would have done exactly that if he’d asked, it wasn’t that simple. 

Honestly, nothing was simple anymore.

One of these nights, these many sleepless nights, Bucky silently padded to the couch to sit in the deep corner of the cushions, his knees drawn up to his chest with his fluffy socks pulled up so that his ankles wouldn’t get cold. It wasn’t nearly as warm in the living room as it was in the bedrooms at night, but he didn’t mind. It helped keep his mind off of the stifling, suffocating memories he’d watched play behind his eyelids.

It wasn’t uncommon for Steve to join him; even with Bucky’s lack of screams or cries, Steve still had super-hearing and could always seem to tell when he’d left the confines of his room. They didn’t say a word to one another for a long time, each curled up in their own way in the couch cushions.

Bucky watched the way the light from the streetlamps danced over Steve’s face, took note of every detail, reminded himself, _yes, this is real._  

“Were you still awake?” he asked, surprising even himself by breaking the silence. In another world, he might have been apologizing for waking Steve, but even with his senses there was no way that the simple click of a doorknob in the silent house could have woken Steve from sleep.

As finely tuned as Steve’s senses were, Bucky knew better than anyone that Steve Rogers could sleep like a goddamn rock.

“Nah,” he said, so softly that Bucky almost wasn’t sure that he’d said anything at all. “Same as you.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Woke up?”

“Nightmare.”

That…that wasn’t something they’d talked about before. As far as Bucky knew, he was the only one in the house who had chronic nightmares. Steve, as far as he knew, slept fine straight through til morning. Whenever they shared a bed, Bucky never once noticed him waking in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat or gasping for breath and reaching blindly for the loose threads of reality.

“Didn’t know you had ‘em, too.”

“I know. Didn’t feel like tellin’ you before.” Bucky watched Steve’s expression closely, trying to find some hint of lingering fear or unease; instead, he watched as a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. Bucky’s confused frown deepened.

“They about the war?”

“Nah,” Steve said, a chuckle escaping. “Not that simple.”

“Then what?” Their eyes met and Bucky made sure he saw his frown, which had crept into the realm of being more of a pout than anything. “I’ve told you ‘bout mine.”

“Just never thought it’d be right to, y’know,” Steve shrugged, “make you feel like you had’ta carry the burden. You’ve already got enough on yer plate, Buck.”

“Got plenty of room on my plate, punk. Got room enough for seconds.” Their eyes met again and Bucky sent him a defiant glare. “Try me.”

The soft, steady ticking of the analog clock was the only sound in the house. Steve had returned to staring out the window, or wherever he was looking, and Bucky kept his gaze on the side of his face, watching for any change in expression, any sign of aching in Steve’s heart. It was there, he knew it was; not that Steve would ever come out and say it. 

“My nightmares,” Steve began, “are usually about losing you.”

Silence. Bucky watched as Steve’s knuckles shifted beneath the skin as he curled his fingers around his bent knee. A shift, blink-and-you’d-miss-it, tick of an expression crossed over Steve’s face; pain, heartbreak, so deep that Bucky couldn’t even fathom just how far down it went.

Steve Roger’s heart was a well; not just any kind, the type that goes straight to the deepest water the Earth could produce. You throw a penny in there, you ain’t never gettin’ it back. And Steve gives, and he gives, dolling out his care and compassion to anyone who needs it. Not in any goddamn big way, nah, he’d never been a flashy kinda guy. But even if he’s never been good at showing it, Steve’d been always giving more of himself than he actually had to offer.

That was why, when Steve Rogers had a nightmare about losing Bucky, he didn’t think it’d be right to bring it up to him once. Not one goddamn time. Not til now, when the damage’d already been done.

“Fuck you,” Bucky spat, a growl low in his throat and his tone so sharp that it made Steve jump at the vocal bite. Bucky’d jumped up from the couch so fast, Steve hadn’t even realized he’d moved. “ _Fuck_  you, it doesn’t have anything t’do with carryin’ th’fuckin’ burden.” 

“Wha- Buck-”

Bucky practically picked Steve up, sliding his hands underneath his armpits and lifting him into a stand, bright blue eyes wide in shock, the green flecks sprinkled in looking larger than life. He slipped his left hand into Steve’s, perhaps a bit more forcefully than necessary, and he dragged him towards Steve’s bedroom, muttering under his breath the whole way.

“Buck, c’mon-”

“ _Shut up.”_

Steve’s mouth snapped shut so fast he was pretty sure he might’ve chipped a tooth, but he didn’t say a word as Bucky threw open his bedroom door and dragged him over to his own bed. Steve let himself be whirled around, his thighs pressed against the edge of the bed for just a moment before Bucky shoved him back and made him lay down. He didn’t stop watching him for a moment, his heart going faster than the winner’s at the Derby.

Once Steve was on the bed, Bucky climbed up after him, still grumbling as he shifted himself and Steve so that they were lying face to face, the covers pulled up over them. Only after everything was settled did Bucky slide closer, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist, his face nestled into his collarbone, warm breath making Steve’s skin feel hot and humid.

“Bucky?” he chanced, his voice so soft it was barely above a whisper. Steve didn’t know what to do with his hands, wasn’t sure what all of this was about in the first place.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere, punk. Now, shuddap and go to sleep,” Bucky bit back, his voice muffled against Steve’s skin.

“Oh.” Steve had nothing else to say, the tension in his muscles slowly loosening, his entire body seemingly realizing that it was time to do exactly what Bucky’d said and sleep. Everything felt slow and sluggish and _simple_ for the first time since waking up in a whole new world. 

Steve decided to wrap his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, weaving his fingers into his long hair, not tugging but simply holding, letting his nails scratch gently at his scalp to make Bucky shiver in simple pleasure. 

“Night, Buck. Sleep well.”

“See you in the mornin’, pal.” 


	4. terrible missions

  
**Anonymous** asked: Steve and Bucky for 9 and/or 14 :3

 

> 9\. “Don’t call me that!”   
> 14\. “You’re supposed to talk me out of this.” 

I call this “Rogers & Barnes: Adventures in Terrible Missions”. One for each prompt instead of mixing them because that was more fun.

* * *

 

“C’mon, Barnes! Move your ass!” 

“For fucks sake, shaddap, Steve!” Bucky huffed and shook his head hard; maybe he’d dislodge something if he did it hard enough and then he wouldn’t have to put up with this shit any longer. God knew he had enough loose and rollin’ around up there already. “And don’t call me that! Jesus, you sound like Colonel Phillips.”

Steve laughed from behind him and Bucky was promptly shoved, as if that were going to help him move any faster. It didn’t help that the push was directly against his ass and Steve’d used his head to do said shoving.

“Fuckin’- Steve, I _swear_.” Bucky stopped mid-motion, making Steve run into him again, a loud clattering echoing around them. He whipped his head back as best as he could in the cramped space, glaring at Steve’s stupid, shit-eating grin that met him head on. “Do you want a boot to the face?”

“Would you just hurry up? My neck’s startin’ to cramp up.”

“ _Oh_ , I’m _so_ terribly sorry! How _dare_  I take my time, maybe take a bit longer than usual, when we’re meant to be on a _fucking stealth mission_  and I’ve been shoved head first into a _fucking_  air vent!” 

So much for stealth. Though, if they’d wanted to preserve their upper hand, they probably should have sent someone else on this goddamn mission in the first fuckin’ place. 

It might’ve also helped if they’d picked a pair that didn’t have a _fucking metal arm_  and the biggest goddamn mouth on the fucking planet when they were meant to be silent. In an air vent.

“I blame you. You and Barton. You’re the one who told Nat to take a day off, this is her fucking job. There is a fucking reason why I don’t do stealth missions, Steve.” Bucky purposely rammed his metal shoulder into the wall of the air vent for emphasis, making the entire shaft clang and rattle around them again. 

“That sounds like your problem-” “ _Fuck you!”_  

 

* * *

 

 

The wind whipped powerfully past, nearly making the entire helicopter shake from the force of it. They hovered midair, the pilot steady and sure in their handling of the aircraft, but they couldn’t stay there forever, and their passengers knew that well.

“Look, I know you’re angry-”

“ _No,_  me? _Angry?_  Never.”

“But that doesn’t mean we have to settle this like-” Glare. “Like _this._ Can’t we just-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Bucky emphasized this by holding his left hand up to place his index finger on Steve’s lips. “Here. To quote a famous writer.” A beat of only the wind and the sound of the rotating blades cutting through the air. “No.”

Steve’s eyes did that…that _thing_. Bucky hated it. It was like looking at a mutt that’d been left out in the street during a helluva storm. They fuckin’ _sparkled._  It was a crime against humanity.

“Stop it,” Bucky snapped. The pilot not-so-subtly cleared their throat.

“Buck.”

“ _Steve._  Stop.”

This time, he didn’t say a goddamn word. And it didn’t end up mattering a fuckin’ bit. He was so gone. _So_  gone on him and his stupid ugly mug. Even thousands of feet up in the fuckin’ air, Steve could just _look_ at him and he’d melt.

“ _Fine._  You know what? I’ll do it. I’ll fuckin’ jump, see how you like it.”

Steve’s eyes widened, but he still didn’t say a word. He simply watched as Bucky pulled _off_  his parachute, dumping it onto the seat where he’d been strapped in a little while ago. He snatched the shield away from Steve’s hands, glaring at him all the while as he adjusted it on his arm and made his way toward the open door of the helicopter. 

With one look out at the ground so far - _so fucking far -_  below, Bucky swallowed hard and turned to look at Steve again.

“You’re supposed to talk me out of this,” Bucky said.

“Um.”

“Right. See ya on the other side, slugger.”

“Wait- _Bucky!”_

Honestly, Steve didn’t actually think he’d do it. But there he went, Bucky’s form falling through the air like an angel falling from heaven, Steve’s heart falling with him and dropping to his stomach like a cannonball in his gut.

Later, he’d admit that there, clinging to the edge of the helicopter, his hand stretched out and grasping the empty air, he’d never had a more vivid flashback. The Train. He’d not caught him in time. He’d been too late. He’d- It was his fault.

They spent that night curled into each other’s arms, Steve’s eyes a brighter blue than ever, red around the rims as he clung to the man he loved like he’d wished he’d been able to do all those years ago. Bucky whispered soft comforts into his ear; the anger was gone, drained from him like blood gone to his head and dripped out from his ears. It wasn’t worth holding onto. 

The only thing worth holding onto that tight was Steve, and he wasn’t gonna be letting go of him any time soon.

[ _**want one?** _ ](http://skinnvsteve.tumblr.com/post/144434659931/send-me-two-characters-or-more-and-a-prompt-and)


	5. please come get me

  
**Anonymous** asked: Just had a writing prompt: Steve/Bucky, “Please come get me.” 

 

This accidentally came out like a sort of character study on Steve and his depression, so I’m really sorry if that’s not what you were looking for!! But, the good news is that I kinda want to expand this. So, there is a possibility that this will end up being a full fic some time soon in the future. I hope you like it, anon!

ca:cw mid-credits scene references and spoilers ahead!!

* * *

 

Suffering is a silent killer, festering within the heart as days go by with forced smiles masking just how deep that pain goes. It’s for the best, he tells himself. It’s become a part of his morning routine. Wake up, acknowledge that he’s here; alive, not in the Valkyrie gulping down lungfulls of icy water, breathe, remember that Bucky made his choice, force himself to get up even when it felt like thousands of pinpricks stabbed into his heart all at once, go about the day. Smile, Steve; you’re Captain America.

Always so dramatic, Peggy’s voice. It wasn’t your fault.

Funny thing is, as many times as he tells himself that, Peg’s voice ringing in his ears – which also brings pain, so much time missed, so much heartache that was directly caused by him – depression doesn’t seem to be a great listener.

Nothing against Doctor Erskine, but his serum apparently can’t cure everything after all.

No one told Steve it would, of course. No one but himself; he’d thought, hey, wouldn’t it be swell to not feel like shit for once? Both physically and emotionally?

It was a nice thought.

Regardless of how hard it was to get up in the morning, how despite his awareness that no, he was not the center of the universe and therefore no, not everything bad that had happened from 1945 until 2016 had been his fault, and he felt like utter shit because he knew this but couldn’t stop _thinking_ it, he still lived.

He put on a smile, he went for a run, he talked to his friends and teammates, he let his mind wander; because at the end of the day he had to. Steve Rogers had to live for Bucky.

Bucky, cold and still in Wakanda. One of the technicians, kind as they meant to be, suggested he consider his friend to be only sleeping if it might bring him comfort. Instead, his mind brought forth memories of the brutal winters in Brooklyn, of finding Bucky covered in snow on the steps after his walk home from work. A snow-covered mountain range, a train that couldn’t be stopped, a scream as he reached for him as Bucky fell and fell and fell –

“Thanks, but I think I can manage knowing he’s in stasis.” Steve tried to stay kind and courteous, but he heard the sharp edge of his own voice and saw the technician’s expression shift before they nodded and walked away.

Sam noticed. Hell, if Steve was being completely honest, Sam knew from the moment they met in DC. He’d never been good at hiding it and Sam was one of the smartest guys Steve’d ever met. But he was also a friend, and a damn good one at that.

Despite knowing this, Steve felt his shoulders tense whenever the silence stretched between them a bit too long.

Wanda knew too. Even without her powers, she would have been able to tell. She could see through anyone without needing to peer into their heads, and Steve was like an open book. Nat had told him he’d always been a bad liar, after all. Which, of course, wasn’t true. He could lie if he needed to; Steve just never liked having to lie to the people he loved. _His_ people.

There was a world of difference between forging an enlistment form to try out at every recruitment center in New York and most of Jersey, and looking at a loved one and being dishonest with them.

But even with Sam and Wanda being aware, they didn’t approach him about it. Ever since he’d seen a show or two where a group of friends staged an intervention, Steve’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never came. They cared, each in their own ways, rather than pushed.

Sam, with his bright smiles and off-the-cuff jokes, his playful competitions, his silent offers of being there if a spare shoulder to cry on was necessary.

Wanda, she was gentle and silent where Sam was loud and boisterous; she left lingering touches on his shoulders, smiles that were only meant for him, moments between them in low voices. They talked; didn’t have much in the way of similar lives to share stories about, but they didn’t need it to be friends. Wanda cared and showed absolute respect for him, would have without being told to, and Steve showed the same right back.

You know how everyone says that things get better, tell you that right when you don’t want to hear it the most? Because, where you’re at, things _aren’t_ better; right now, they fucking _suck_. And hope for the future? That’s not a solution, that’s a finish line at the end of a marathon where you feel like you’ve not even crossed the starting line yet.

But as unhelpful as it can be, they’re goddamn right.

Days go by, you keep on living, things get _better_. Not all at once, god no. You find yourself at a low, lower than you thought you could possibly be, and nothing’s gonna get better from there you think. Nothing’s ever gonna be good again. But it is.

It’s one of those days; the clock is glaring at Steve with its furious red stare, numbers showing that it was already well past 9:30 not letting him live it down for even a moment that he’s still in bed. That he hasn’t slept all night except for hour increments. There’s no reason for it. It just _is_.

When his phone rings, the screen blinding him in the darkness of his room, he answers on instinct without looking.

“This is Rogers.”

“Steve…”

It’s funny, seeing as they’ve never had a conversation with airwaves between them, speaker making their voices sound tinny and distanced, but Steve immediately knows. His heart soars, but his brain doesn’t quite catch up fast enough, confusion drawing his eyebrows down. It takes a few seconds, embarrassingly long really, for his brain to catch up and his mouth to form the word. But he manages, choked and unbelieving as he may be.

“Bucky?”

A laugh. It’s light, a lovelier sound than that of an angel, sweet enough to rot his teeth in a snap.

“Took ya long enough.” His voice was scratchy, lack of use, the ice probably still affecting his throat. “Where are you?”

“I’m– I’m with the others. Laying low. In the states.”

“Good, good,” Bucky said, trailing off as the voice of what is most likely a technician murmurs to him for a few long moments. It gives Steve time to remember how to breathe, to loosen his grip when he realizes he’s been clutching at his bedsheets hard enough to start ripping the fabric.

“Buck?” Steve asks, once the side-conversation has ended, receiving a curious hum across the airwaves. “What’cha call for?”

“Oh, well,” Bucky began, muffled sounds following as he covered the receiver as he coughed and cleared his throat. A moment of silence trailed as he most likely drank down water. Steve was patient. He would wait on the line for years if that’s what Bucky needed from him right then and there. His heart disagreed, pounding like a wronged prisoner against his ribs like iron bars. “Just wanted to ask…”

Steve waited. It was better to give him time, wasn’t it? He felt as if he were dealing with a skittish animal, giving him room to breathe and realize that he wasn’t in danger.

“Yeah?” Steve probed.

“Can you…” Bucky paused, swallowing hard enough that Steve could hear it over the miles between them. “Please. Come get me.”

“Yes,” Steve said, already out of bed and nearly to his front door before he’d even realized that he’d made it that far. “Yes, _god_ , of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Not gonna ask if I’m sure?” Bucky asked, his laugh attempting to convey comfortable ease but betraying him with the way it stopped short. Steve knew that laugh. Knew it better than the chime of the dinner bell in basic training.

“Buck,” Steve breathed, “if you weren’t sure, you wouldn’t be calling me.”

Another laugh, a _real_ one, and Steve’s face hurt from how wide his smile spread across his face. He was so gone on him. Didn’t even need to see him in person, knew exactly how he looked when he laughed like that, just the way. Gorgeous in every light.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Bucky said, sighing pleasantly. “Then I’ll see you soon?”

“Before you can even start to miss me.”

“You better, pal. I ain’t waitin’ here forever.”

“I’m on my way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at skinnvsteve.tumblr.com


End file.
